


Lyrium

by Imitari



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Author's headcanon, Awkward Cullen, M/M, Withdrawal, addiction sucks, awkward trevelyan, late night conversation, sort of, thats what friends are for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imitari/pseuds/Imitari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the night is too long and the itch grows, it's better to seek help.  It's just that asking for help is so damned hard.  Fortunately, sometimes people just seem to know what you need.  As Cullen finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lyrium

He climbed the stairs with increasing reluctance.  The stairwell was barely lit, the darkness of night having seeped its way into the castle, and his boots scuffed the stone.  The Inquisitor had said he was welcome.  He had stressed any time, even the dead of night, which it was.  Cullen found it hard to believe that the Inquisitor would be willingly awoken at such a time and this made his advance slow further.  He hesitated on the landing between flights, looking back the way he had come.  It would be easier to return to his room.  Back to the cold of his bed, back to the dreams that were memories, back to the silence that grew and fostered the itch under his skin.  It was the itch that drove him forward again.  He could not take another moment of it - that crawling sensation that craved release.

He neared the top of the stairs and saw a light under the Inquisitor's door.  For a moment, hope fluttered in his chest.  Perhaps the Inquisitor was yet at his desk and would welcome the distraction of company.  But as he came closer, he heard the unmistakable drawl of Dorian Pavus and hope died.  Cullen preferred to avoid gossip and yet even he knew of the developing attraction between Trevelyan and the mage.  He would not disturb their tryst and he turned away.  In his haste, he knocked over a pile of scrap wood, making the walls echo with the clatter.  He had barely the time to curse himself before the door swung wide, spreading light out into the blackness of the stairwell and over him, standing there in rueful embarrassment.

"Why, Commander," said Dorian, standing akimbo in the doorway, "To what do we owe this pleasant surprise?"

"Is that Cullen?" came the Inquisitor's voice from further within the room, "Let him in, Dorian."

The mage glanced back over his shoulder, for a second his profile in perfect sillouette, before he nodded and waved Cullen forward with a playful bow, "Please.  Enter, serah."

"I - I don't mean to interrupt," muttered Cullen.  He rubbed his neck as he stepped up to the door, taking Dorian's place at the threshold, "It's nothing important."

"Pish posh, Commander.  What has you up so late? Some report? Shall I take my leave?" 

"Oh! No. You needn't leave on my account.  I only ... That is. I -."

"Come in, Cullen," said Trevelyan with a smile.  He sat in a chair near the fire, his bare feet turned to the flame, "Dorian and I were only discussing literature."

Beside Cullen, Dorian scoffed, "Literature.  You're daft to call it that."

"And yet I caught you reading it."

The mage tossed an artful, if rude, gesture into the air before herding Cullen away from the door, toward the fire, "I'll admit to curiosity.  Having read it, I can say with certainty that it is not literature."

"Sit down, Commander.  Dorian prefers to lounge on the bed," said Trevelyan.  He stared up at Cullen until he obeyed and then asked, "What of you, Cullen? Have you read 'Swords & Shields?'"

"I - haven't, no," he replied and with another nervous rub of his neck, he added, "I believe that Cassandra is quite fond of it."

"She is!" chuckled Dorian and Trevelyan smirked, "So she is."

"Max discovered her fondness recently and talked Varric into writing the next chapter," explained Dorian as he flopped back onto the bed, "Her face when she saw it.  What I wouldn't give to have seen it."

"It was rather funny," confided the Inquisitor, his eyes alight with humor, "When Varric started dropping hints about the plot, I thought she'd kill him, right then and there."

Cullen could easily imagine it and he found himself chuckling along with his companions.  The conversation winded on from there to books that Dorian would concede the title of 'literature' and onward.  He eased deeper into the chair, surprised to feel the itching soothed.  At some point, Dorian's chatter about a childhood tutor became background noise and the dancing flames a mesmerizing display.  He is startled out of his doze by a hand to his shoulder.

"Forgive me," murmurs Trevelyan, "You look comfortable but I rather imagine you'll regret it in the morning."

Cullen wiped his face with one hand and looked past Trevelyan to see that Dorian had talked himself to sleep, curled up on one side of the bed, already covered over with a blanket.

"Yes.  I should - I should go."

The hand at his shoulder pressed down and then the Inquisitor dropped to crouch at Cullen's feet, "I did not wish to expose your situation to Dorian.  The talking seemed to help."

Cullen sighed, "It did.  Yes."

Trevelyan smiled up at him, "Good.  I am glad you came.  I know it is difficult."

In the soft light of the dying fire, Cullen searched his companion's face.  There was more than sympathy there.  There was knowledge, "You said before ... that you've some experience with this."

"Not lyrium," said Trevelyan with an arch of his brow, "But yes.  There was a time when I lived only for my addiction."

"I cannot imagine it of you," confessed Cullen.  Trevelyan shrugged, "It was a long time ago.  I was young.  Well, younger."

Cullen grinned, a short flex of his lips, "So we all were."

"We can speak of it more," offered the Inquisitor, "Perhaps when it is not so late."

"I would like that, I think.  But it is late.  I should go."

Trevelyan stood as Cullen rose and he hesitated, his fingers rising to his chin in his own anxious tic.

"Would you - would you care to stay? Not," he added quickly, "Not for anything but sleep.  The bed is more than large enough for three.  Don't think I haven't noticed the hole in your roof."

Caught unaware, Cullen blushed.  He gripped the hair at the side of his hair, an automatic refusal springing to his lips when Trevelyan shook his head, "I am sorry.  Perhaps that is too much to offer."

"No! Well, yes," sighed Cullen.  He glanced at the bed, not unaware of the warmth of the room, a stark comparison to the chill of his own room, "I don't want to intrude."

"I've made you uncomfortable," Trevelyan said sadly, "It was not my intention.  It is only ... Never mind."

"What?" asked Cullen. He was reluctant to leave, to walk through the cold, into the dark from the strange comfort of the Inquisitor's quarters.  Trevelyan rubbed his chin, "I have siblings.  Sometimes a shared bed is better than having one entirely to oneself."

"I have ... dreams," replied Cullen, shocked to find himself actually considering Trevelyan's offer.  

"So do I," Trevelyan said with a small smile, "Sometimes I even thrash about."

"I can't imagine Dorian putting up with such behavior," said Cullen before he could think over his words.  He coughed and Trevelyan grinned, "Dorian is a treasure, more patient with me than I deserve.  But don't tell him I said that.  He might get ideas."

"Oh, I won't," assured Cullen quickly.  They stood together in silence that should have proved awkward but held more the feeling of steady assurance.

"I - Perhaps another time," said Cullen, slowly, tasting the idea and finding it acceptable, "Should I find myself needing company."

"My door is always open," Trevelyan walked him to the door, "Thank you.  For coming."

"You said that," grinned the Commander, "I should thank you."

"I'll take that as my gratitude.  Good night, Cullen.  Do consider letting the workers repair your ceiling."

"I will," promised Cullen as he stepped out, the cold immediately rushing to meet him, "Good night."

"Good night," murmured Trevelyan and shut the door.  Cullen heaved in a deep breath, regretting the ice as it stung his lungs, waiting for the itchy loneliness to creep back in.  It was there, on the perifory, like a wolf stalking its prey, but for the moment, he was calm.  He clambered down the steps, his heart lighter, the thought of sharing a bed temporarily out of his mind as he faced the quiet chill of the castle.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is always welcome. I won't get better without help. Also, Cullen refused to get into the bed, no matter how hard I tried. That man.
> 
> Also, I'm typing these things up on my phone and posting them the same way. So the formatting is sometimes weird?


End file.
